


xvii

by puredopamine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, College Student Rey (Star Wars), DDLG, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Erotic Poetry, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Foreplay, Hate Sex, Innocence Play, Inspired by Poetry, Intimacy, Light Angst, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Online Dating, Poetry, Possessive Sex, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Professor Ben Solo, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexting, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Student Rey (Star Wars), Switching, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puredopamine/pseuds/puredopamine
Summary: “Lightly, and you utterly will become, with infinite ease... the poem which I not write.” — E.E. Cummings
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 87





	1. nothing gold can stay

“Good GOD,” Rey groaned as she hastily slammed her laptop screen down into its keyboard. She followed suit by throwing herself against her sunken mattress.

The sheets needed to be replaced, she realized as her vision landed on one of the many coffee stains on the flannel sheets. She was reluctant to do it since they were the comfiest of her inventory, but they were getting a bit funky.

“Him again?” Rose lazily called out from the kitchen.

“Yes, _him_ again.”

Rose clicked her tongue as she made her way to the bed next to Rey’s, eyes not leaving her phone.

“You’re like... obsessed with him.”

Rey huffed and shot up straight with crossed arms and furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”

Rose smirked, still tapping away at her phone screen. “Professor Solo or whatever his name is. Like all you do nowadays is talk about him.”

Irritation flooded Rey’s features, but she was too warn out to put up a big argument. “I’m not sure if it could be called ‘obsession’ when its righteous anger, Rose.”

She chuckled and laid back against her bed. “True. This dude I’m talking to,” her eyes shifted toward the phone resting atop her belly, “he was telling me that Solo is a real dickwad. Apparently he’s always had something up his ass, so at least it’s not personal?”

Rey rested her hands together against her chest and her shoulders rolled with a shrug. Mr. Solo was an asshole in general, that much was sure, but he seemed to really key in on her especially. It wasn’t enough to where she could file a report or anything, and he never took it too far, but it was just... the little things that had cumulated into big things over the semester. Like when she was caught on her phone during the zoom class instead of focusing all of her attention on him and whatever the hell he was going on about.

“Miss Niima,” he’d hiss at her, despite there being a handful of other students straying in focus. “This may be the peak of internet learning, but that isn’t an excuse to whip out your cell phone whenever you begin to find my lecture getting dull.”

At first she felt guilty, since Mr. Solo really was well equipped to teach English 135; despite his gruff and unfriendly air, he had somehow mastered the field of poetry. His introspective comments on Bukowski and ingenious analysis of Sylvia Plath left her in awe, as it did with any other student who gave the slightest damn about the topic.

He was nothing short of cinematic when it came to his study, and everyone knew it.

“Lady— I will touch you with my mind,” he’d start off with a low, raspy voice.

As each verse and each word would address the audience, he’d slowly raise his eyes to the camera and hold the viewer with a hardened, dark stare. Somewhere between a scowl and smirk, smoldering all the same.

His deliverance was enough to make one wonder what sort of wickedness roared in his mind, creeping to the surface to touch— to _engulf_.

He clicks his tongue, savoring the honey dripping from the promise of Cumming’s words. “Touch you and touch and _touch_.”

His voice has texture akin to feeling a lover’s five o’clock shadow scraping against soft skin, oiled and fresh.

“Until you _give me_ —“ the weight heavy in ‘ _give_ ;’ seductive invitation in ‘ _me_.’

His gruff face, scattered with moles and freckles and lines of worry gets softer, as if a fond memory came to mind.

A light breath escapes his full lips and he turns his head just slightly, the tousled raven waves framing his face swaying along. The slightest smirk.

“Until you give me,” he repeats before looking directly into Rey’s eyes — or, the camera lenses, she corrects herself—, “a smile. _Shyly obscene_.”

Heat throbs against Rey’s cheeks, like lava beneath the earth. To cause a reaction like that a smile both shy and obscene in nature, made her skin prickle. What would such a man have to do to evoke the harmony between purity and defilement? The juxtaposition between innocence and corruption?

The way her body would melt and turn to liquid upon hearing those words from a man like him was all she needed to know. To know that about herself. That she was the kind of woman willing to feed into her desires and silence her inhibitions so as to be capable of both immaculateness and treachery.

His voice now only slightly above a murmur: “Lady, I will touch you with my mind. _Touch you_ — that is all.””Lightly, and you utterly will become, with infinite ease,...”

His eyes go dark and wild again and his chest heaves up and down. His rose-hued lips purse as he tries to come down from the fever the words caused.

“... the poem which I _not_ write.”

The promise of one who could make; the threat of one who could destroy. Either way, Rey was left breathless and shaking each time he spoke, personifying the dark paradise offered in the erotic work of E.E. Cummings.

It didn’t stop there, though. It was the way he connected to the inner devastation, voice cracking like a heart, when relaying the writings of heartbreak.

“ _‘A Quoi Bone Dire’... ‘What Good Is There To Say?’_ This is the question Charlotte Mew proposed. Nowadays people say ‘hindsight is twenty-twenty.’ What do most believe that to mean?” He asks the class.

Despite his known crudeness, Rey raises her hand in the class participation section.

He’s not annoyed but he’s not pleased either.

“Yes, Miss Niima.”

“To most,” she says, trying to keep her voice strong and steady. “That phrase is used to make the point that the present may only be seen with clarity when recalling the past in future’s time.”

“That’s a wordy way to put it,” he comments as he pinches his nose between his brows. “But that’s right.”

Rey feels her heartbeat raise and her body liven with adrenaline. It was just that kind of thing that really wound her up when it came to him. She couldn’t help but admire his skill and hold on poetry, and thus was driven mad in effort to impress him somehow. But nothing worked.

“So in light of Miss Niima’s explanation— if any of you were able to catch onto its meaning—, what sort of ‘present’ would two lovers exist in to be looking back in retrospect and come to such a conclusion? Regarding the past— what good is there to say?”

He then read the poem.

“Seventeen years ago you said,

Something that sounded like goodbye.

And everybody thinks that you are _dead_ ,

 _But I_.

So I, as I grow stiff and cold

It this and that say goodbye too;

And everybody sees that I am _old_

But _you_.”

His eyes burn, but not with the heat of passion and lust; with the rue and disappointment of black smoke fading into the sky and its ashes turning into dirt.

“And then, class, if all there’s left is pain and bitterness— nothing sweet nor fond to recall until the silence of death, bedded in remorse and regret yet without redemption— what good is there to say? Why would one hold on? We all do. It’s in our nature. The dark side of man. We hold on and on. We still are holding on. But, in my experience, we need to let go. Let the past die.”

And as he looks directly into view and Rey practically feels him staring into her body, not deterred by the wires of veins and nerves or pinks of organs— but into the very core of her being, he finishes. “Kill it, if you have to.”

As a psychology major, Rey wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up in Solo’s poetry class. Maybe it started two years ago, when he was substituting in her English 101 class. His authority on language and excitement toward meaning was magnetic. She couldn’t help but dwell on his words, hanging onto them like a lifeline even after the class ended.

“I appreciated your lecture, Professor Solo,” a scrawny 18-year-old Rey told him as she did her best to hide behind the stack of textbooks in her arms.

He barely looked up from the desk as he packed his minimal belongings away into his Messanger bag. “Thank you.”

It was curt and impersonal, but there was just something about him that evoked great interest. It wasn’t one of those things where you want to peg someone down and figure them out; Solo seemed set in his ways. But there just seemed to be more to him than meets the eye. Maybe it was the way he interpreted words and found meaning in the nothingness.

And as someone who often felt like they were nothing, Rey gravitated toward him.

Maybe that was why he was especially stern with her, because she’d been around the longest (as far as she knew). From that first meeting onward, she enrolled in his Intro to Literature class in Fall 2018 and now she was in his Poetry 135 class.

He was familiar with her by the second half of the Lit class. He was even beginning to give more than a half-assed glance when she greeted or bid him goodbye. It was never much, but it was something.

But somewhere between the last half of that class and the beginning of this one, he seemed to have completely run out of patience for her, let alone friendliness or any kind of interest.

She made it a habit to focus on those obscenely large, strong hands of his; not only because they were often the focal imagery of her dirty daydreams, but because she wanted to make sure she wasn’t overlooking a wedding ring or something. It was one thing to fantasize but another to project that kind of thinking onto a married man; the idea of him being married or otherwise occupied made her belly sour and teeth clench.

But thus far, no sign of that. Unless he was some kind of sneaky bastard or maybe just didn’t believe in marriage symbols.

He could’ve been dating someone though, she reasoned. And if he was, there was really no way she’d know for sure; there was no sign of him on social media, and he didn’t seem like the sort who’d mention it anyway.

Either way, something in his air told her that he wasn’t appreciating the bedroom eyes she found herself making at him throughout class hours, so she backed down significantly.

Not that it made anything better, though.

Before he was just cold and choppy, but now he was straight up grouchy. Calling her out when she wasn’t appearing to pay attention, critiquing her commentary, making notes on her assignments that implied she was visibly losing her stamina in the class... things like that.

And he was by no means an easy grader in the past, but now? Scathing. She’d usually get As and Bs at the beginning of the semester, but the more time passed, the harder it became to please him. Getting a B was like getting an A+ from him nowadays; she knew she was definitely not the only one struggling, considering the snarky, crossed comments she’d read in a group chat between her and some other classmates, but she couldn’t help but think getting an A would never be possible again even if she worked for it.

She was thankful she only needed a C to pass and get the class credits, but there was some wild streak inside her that had taken Solo on as a personal challenge. It was like he was toying with her and his approach to Poetry analysis was a Olympic game only he knew the rules to. But Rey wasn’t one to sit on the sidelines; she played to _win_.

So she kept her phone in her drawer each class, turned in every assignment early, took any opportunities for extra credit, raised her hand whenever she saw fit, posted to his drab discussion boards, and put any personal interest or physical drive she had toward him aside... anything it took.

And it worked pretty well. She had gotten one of the higher scores on his midterm quiz, and with finals starting the next week, she was well on her way to conquest.

***

She nibbled on her thumbnail as her other hand kept clicking on the mouse, hitting ‘refresh.’

Finals scores were coming out and she was just waiting for one.

Poetry 135

Benjamin C. Solo, M.F.A.

5 Units (Non-Transferable)

Class Average:

_(Pending)_

Final Grade:

Niima, Rey

ID #12171973

_(Pending)_

Refresh.

_(Pending)_

Refresh-refresh.

_(Pending)_

One deep inhale...

Refresh.

_(Pending)_

And the exhale...

Refresh.

_75.1%_

C.

Her lips parted and eyes grew wide.

C.

She knew it was mostly indisputable. The Final was taken on campus with socially-distanced seating, in small groups. Professor Solo himself oversaw the session, as well as Professor Phasma from Rey’s Intro to Anthropology class. It was done with a scantron, and that much was set in stone.

The questions were intense and revolved heavily around symbolism, which was almost always subjective. To John Keats, the word ‘fly’ was associated with freedom of life; to Emily Dickenson, the word ‘fly’ was associated with the coming of death.

She felt like she was solid on that; she knew she’d get at least a B- on the multiple-choice portion of the test.

But apparently it was the written response that was her undoing. She was sure it wouldn’t effect her grade either way, since she played it safe and met the predetermined requirements. Five to seven paragraphs, under 10 spelling errors, 3 abstract sources, and a one-word theme.

She was sure she had it down, and her hope was especially peaked when Solo had given the class a passing heads-up on the written exam before administering it.

“You’ll be asked to pick a theme commonly found in poetry. Usually people choose ‘love,’” he rolled his eyes and rubbed his face up and down, “‘loss,’ ‘death,’ ‘chastity,’ ‘justice,’ ‘oppression,’ etc.”

“Then you’ll be asked to mention... mmmm,” he stirred for a moment, “it should be around three abstract sources, which basically means mentioning at least three known poets by name, in addition to at least one of their poems that address the theme you’ve selected. You’ll need to have the names of the poems I think, so probably better to keep it _simple_.”

He had mentioned during their last class that there would likely be a section of the test that was written and required at least three sources and to keep that in mind, but it was reassuring that he went over these details once more.

“You won’t be required to recite the entire poem, but if you plan to include a word-for-word quotation, it’s got to be accurate. Inaccuracy knocks you down at least one or two points, depending on severity. The purpose of your analysis will be to identify the theme you’ve selected, compare and contrast its context between at least two poems, and share your interpretation of the theme, as well as provide a reference of at least one poem that best reflects your understanding/interpretation.”

“If you need clarification on the requirements you may ask me. Just a little reminder, I suppose,” his dark eyes landed on Rey; if his eyes weren’t so crudely expressive on their own, the clack mask covering the lower half of his face may have been able to hide the intense regard he had for her.

“A reminder that you’re not alone.”

And with that, the two hour window to complete the written portion began.

Aside from the obvious selection of seduction and erotica, Rey selected a theme that had been most relatable and thus easier to remember: ‘survival.’

‘Transfiguration’ by Louisa May Alcott, ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay’ by Robert Frost, and ‘Control’ by Sidney Lanier.

The contrast between resilience and acceptance found in Alcott and Frost’s works were integral aspects of survival, yet often clashed and threw one off balance.

And to Rey, the closest one could get to survival is control; control of self, in the purest sense. Mind over matter, even when it came down to instinct and organic response.

“O Hunger, hunger, I will harness thee

And make thee harrow all my spirt’s glebe.

Of old the blind bard Herve sang so sweet,

He made a wolf to plow his land.”

She read it over and over before turning it in. She knew it wasn’t worth an A, but it would surely suffice.

She was almost positive she heard Solo mutter through cloth “goodbye, Miss Niima,” as she walked out of the building, but she couldn’t be sure. Usually she might try to linger and get a sense of his reaction to her, but she had spent the whole night before and that same morning studying as much as she could, so her body was moments away from failing her.

So to wake up and see that all the effort only amounted to average— a C— was a blow. A blow taken harder than it probably should’ve, honestly.

But it was the message attached to her her grade that completely overtook her.

‘ _Miss Niima,_

_MC Exam: 86%. Written: 70%._

_I was left uninspired by your writing, Miss Niima. And the mark of an affective writer is to incite empathy— empathy being emotion that evokes action._

_A poem or Drabble with an empathetic affect is typically considered ‘moving;’ fitting, don’t you think? I regret to inform you that your work was anything but. And I must say, I am surprised and disappointed in this failure, Miss Niima._

_Though with the recent turn out in your work and (lack of) participation in this class (sans the month approaching finals— wonder why?), I was expecting this. I did hope for better, but expectation will always be safer than hope, I’d like to think._

_As a Professor and avid lover of the subject, it’s disheartening to know that the time we spent dissecting such essential thoughts was all in vain._

_You did show promise when I first had you in that English class once, as well as the Lit class last semester. Even the beginning of this semester. I don’t even want to know what’s been so distracting that you’ve allowed yourself to stray academically, but I hope— for your own potential— you reevaluate._

_Please consider your class selection more thoroughly next semester._

_If you still have an inclination to poetry, you may take Poetry 235 with me next semester. But I expect nothing but excellence in that class; I hope you keep this in mind and decide whether or not you can actually take what I give you._

_Your grade is non-negotiable, but if you would like to discuss this matter further, please feel free to reach me at my administrative email address included below._

_Respectfully,_

**_Benjamin C. Solo_ **

**_Master of the Arts_ **

**_Literature and Poetry_ **

_**BSolo@Coruscant.edu** ’_

Before she thought better of it or maybe even fully woke up from her grogginess, the reply was sent.

‘ _Professor Solo,_

_I must say, I was hoping that I would achieve a B in your class but cannot 100% say I’m surprised that this feat too proved to be impossible._

_Your knack and command over language is exceptional, if not awe-inspiring. Your way of speaking and obvious passion are what captivated me and drew me to whatever courses I could take with you. Sure such a man that demands to be seen and heard this way must have a significant message to share with the world, and I just had to know it._

_But since I won’t be in your class much longer than this, I can’t refrain from sharing yet another unwarranted comment with you:_

_You’re an **asshole**. You’re a condescending tosser who looks over people, not atthem. With only a superficial view of the topic, who could ever know it?_

_Maybe I wouldn’t have failed your assignment if you hadn’t failed me in mastering the subject first._

_Maybe my written response would have moved you more if your approach to teaching had moved me more._

_You were often despondent when it came to questions in class. You preferred to speak rather than listen. When we would speak, you would make no effort to veil your annoyance. And really, your attitude in general made approaching you feel like poking a big black hairy grizzly bear with a stick._

_It’s one thing to be knowledgeable on a subject, Professor Solo, but it’s another to be a true master. Mastery is always proceeded by aspiration. To have dominance that draws in submission?_

_Isn’t that what Greek Philosopher Plagueis (32 BBY) implied in his legacy, ‘The Rule of 2’?_

_“One to embody power; the other to crave it.”_

_If you were given even a speck of power over me, you wouldn’t even have the faintest idea of what to do with it._

_I look forward to the semester ahead because I won’t be sticking myself in situations that result in the apathy and disrespect you’ve shown to me and my fellow students. Not just in the comments regarding my written final, but in the general scope of my time under your instruction._

_And please— I beseech you: never use the word ‘empathy’ ever again because you are the last person on earth who can say it without the bitter aftertaste of hypocrisy to follow. And acid reflex probably isn’t good for a person your age, is it?_

_Fuck you!!!!!!_

_rEsPeCTfUlLy~~~_

_Rey Niima_.’

***

Rose was out on a date the night after the fallout, leaving the apartment all to Rey for the night.

At first it started with casual rubbing and teasing. For a while she just lazily rolled circles on her clit, but nothing else. It made her feel good and helped her calm down a bit, but before long she began aching for more.

She hadn’t had a chance to touch herself in a while since there was so much going on lately, but as she laid there in her bralette and little cotton sleep shorts with the apartment all to herself, she realized she was way overdue for some self care.

She couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed and search for lube or anything, though. Instead she brought two fingers to her mouth and sucked on them while the other hand continued the idle movements against her little bud.

With eyes closed and her mouth full, she hummed contentedly as her imagination wandered.

_‘That’s it, baby,’ the dark, rich, masculine voice would tell her as he loomed overhead. His eyes would be fixed on her naked form as she sunk to her knees and wrapped her tiny hand around his big, thick cock._

_She’d bring it to her lips and only spend a few moments giving kitten licks to the head, though that alone would cause him to groan and clench his jaw. ‘Fuck, that little tongue looks so cute, licking at my cock like that.’_

_She’d hum happily as she went in, taking the head into her mouth. First she’d roll her tongue around it as if it were a raspberry popsicle on a hot summer day, making sure to catch any juice dripping down the sides._

_‘Tastes good, huh, baby? Tell me you love how daddy’s cum tastes.’_

_She’d nod and moan with only half the shaft in her mouth, causing it to bob up and down toward her throat. She wouldn’t even have half of it in before it took up all the space in her mouth._

_One of those big, strong hands would reach for the back of her head, pulling her away from his dick so she could stare up at him._

_‘Use your words, miss Niima,’ he would command._

Rey moaned out loud, unable to stop herself from breathing out ‘yes, daddy. I love it.’

_She’d bring his cock back to her mouth and only get the chance to give a few sucks before he pulled her away again._

_‘Stand up, baby girl.’_

She didn’t move from her place in bed but could envision herself doing as she was told.

_His hands would run down her ribs, back up to her tits, flicking her hard pink nipples with his thumbs before sliding his hands down to her hips._

_‘I think baby girl deserves a reward for working so hard,’ he’d mockingly pout and coo. His brow would raise and his eyes would gleam mean. ‘What do you think, miss Niima?’_

She bit into her lip as her thumb picked up the pace on her clit and her fingers teased her entrance; she was already so wet, she didn’t even need the trail of saliva left from her mouth.

She hissed as her clit began throbbing. “Yes, yes, yes. Please, daddy! Want it so bad.”

_He smirks. ‘Such a good girl, always taking what daddy wants to give you.’_

She giggled as her pleasure rose higher and her skin got hotter. “Please, daddy.”

_He’d suddenly smack one of his palms against her asscheek and immediately clench it in his grip right after, causing her to squeal as he pulled her closer._

_He’d whisper in her ear, ‘you sure, baby girl? What if I just... what if I just touched you? Mmm. What if I touched you with my mind? If I did that, you’d be screaming for it, wouldn’t you?’_

She nodded fervently as she started twisting her fingers inside. “Yes, please, please, please, I need it, I—“

_‘Ask me nicely, miss Niima.’_

“Let me have it, Professor, I swear I can take it!”

And with that, her fingers rapidly plunged in and out of her cunt, pistoling into her with imaginary girth and length.

_He’d be plowing her, rutting into her little body with that massive cock of his at a furious pace._

_‘That’s it, baby, look at you taking this big fat cock. You look so pretty like this, taking me inside you like you were made to be my little cockwarming slut. Gonna make sure there’s enough room inside you to take all of it,’ he’d growl._

She began writhing and moaning, slave to her pleasure as she imagined herself wrapped around Solo’s length.

“Love being your little slut, daddy,” she panted. “You make me feel so fucking good.”

_‘Knew you’d love it this way. Love it my way.’_

Even though she herself projected that last comment from him, in the haze of her orgasm as it tapered off, it stuck with her.

_‘Love it my way.’_

The idea of contradicting everything she told him in that email and willingly becoming a mold for his pleasure and use didn’t sit quite right with her.

Her arousal dissipated the more she dwelled on it, until she was left lying dry among her dampened sheets.

Something akin to shame and disgust filled her as she realized the level she had stooped in her fantasy.

It was only made even worse when she realized how much she did love it, though.

***

It was around 7 A.M. when Rey returned from her jog the next day. It was the only spare time she had that Thursday morning before she had to go into work, but Rose was not having it.

“Reyyyyy,” she whined sleepily as she covered her face with a pillow. “Jeezuz, you’ve literally opened the door like twice by now.”

Rey chuckled, despite her roommate and best friend’s annoyance. “Sorry, Rosie. I was jogging.”

Rose’s yawn turned into a guttural sigh. “A jog to you is like... a marathon to a normal person.”

“Hmm,” she hummed as she plopped into her bed. “Feels good to get out, though.”

Rose moved the pillow from her face and smirked at her. “I constantly wonder how many knots you have in your back from all the tension.”

Rey stretched her arms overhead, causing an audible crack from her joints. “Can’t argue there.”

The truth was Rey had been more pent up as of late than she usually was. Sure, the weight of Finals week played a significant role in the tension buzzing within, but it wasn’t just that.

Professor Solo was absent for class the day after they emailed, and while it surely had nothing to do with their exchange, Rey couldn’t help but feel a little bad about it. Maybe Finals were weighing heavily on him too, and he spoke out of turn. Or maybe that was just the way he was, and as Rose had said, it really wasn’t personal.

Rey’s response, though, was very personal. She not only questioned his teaching skills, but his own personal merit as well.

Rey typically prided herself in her ability to be empathetic, which made it all the more personal when Solo chided her on it. But perhaps she shouldn’t have prided herself so soon, since her words to him were anything _but_ empathetic.

She was at war with herself, partially wanting to write him an apology message, but the other part of her was glad she said something to him. It may have been harsher than necessary, but perhaps this was the kind of wake up call he needed.

Rose spoke up, breaking her from her thoughts. “You need to get laid.”

Rey’s cheeks turned pink and she shot up, feeling a bit called out. “Um, what?”

Rose nodded, eying her both knowingly and slyly. “Seriously. You gotta get that stick up your ass replaced with a nice big di—“

“Rose!” Rey screeched, thoroughly scandalized.

Rose cracked up, burying her face into the pillow again. “I’m sorry, that was crude. But really, Rey, you should get out or something. Celebrate your freedom from from beastly, pompous asshole!”

Rey covered her eyes with her hands and sighed. “We’re kind of in the middle of a pandemic, Rose. I couldn’t go out to the bar to meet someone during this in good conscience.”

Rey wasn’t the biggest fan of impromptu hookups like that anyway, but it was especially unappealing given the circumstances.

Rose shrugged. “And that’s good! So don’t! Try an app.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tinder is so boring.”

“Hey!” Rose sat up and put out her hands defensively. “I met Armie there and we’ve been quite happy.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” Rey smirked as Rose winked at her. “It’s just not my thing.”

Rose nodded and tapped her perfectly manicured fingers against her chin, pursing her full lips out in contemplation.

She then lit up with excitement. “Oh! You know what, Finn was telling me about this one app! Where he met Poe!”

“Is it like... for men, though?”

Rose snorted. “No, silly. I mean, well, yes. Obviously. But no, like anyone can make an account. It’s partnered with a bunch of hotels, and basically cause quarantine is so icky, you find a partner and you both collaborate on your ‘interests’ and ‘preferences,’” Rose explained.

“Kinks,” Rey shot back.

Rose nodded and winked again. “Exactly. And basically based on your location and preferences, you get offered a deal for a hotel or loft where y’all can meet up and, you know... carry on with your business. It’s deep cleaned and is only used once a week, so the booking is tight.”

Rey frowned. “That’s probably really expensive though? Plus, isn’t that weird? To like... share a big room or loft with someone you’re just meeting?”

“It’s cleaner than a random motel or shoddy apartment, which is where you’d probably go anyway. Plus each hotel taking part in the deal has security that makes sure both parties enter and leave safely, and they take down all your info and stuff before you meet up. Basically you need to be verified and everything before you meet.”

The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing to Rey... but she liked the aspect of anonymity when it came to hooking up. She preferred withhold her real name on the first date, instead going by ‘Kira’ or some other fake name. If she saw them again, she might tell them her real name, but she liked having some upper hand.

“What if I don’t want the person I meet to have all that information, though? They could be a stalker or something.”

“I think you can use an alias. It’s the company that has all the personal info. Apparently Poe had called himself ‘Pilot’ the first time he and Finn met, so it can be done I’m sure.”

A small part of her felt an unnatural loyalty to Solo, the main star of her dirty thoughts, but it was baseless. She couldn’t deny her attraction to him, but it wasn’t like she and he had any sort of real connection. In fact, based on how things were between them, they couldn’t really even stand each other.

Maybe it was more about expectation than obligation. Though she never really had him in any way aside from her dreams, she doubted she’d find someone who could measure up to him; or at least her preconceived notions of him.

He was becoming a bit of a weakness for her, if she were being honest.

And with that last thought, Rey was decided.

“What’s the name of the app?”

***

Rey chose to create her profile on her own, despite Rose’s offer to help spruce it up a bit.

She did help her choose a profile picture, though. Rey wanted something somewhat vague, but not something that gave away too much.

Rose helped her settle into a demure pose that focused on her shoulder and jawline. It was posed so a loose wave of hair would cascade along her neck and just her bottom lip, painted in a peach color, would protrude at the top. She borrowed one of Rose’s dainty, ornate pearl necklaces to decorate the exposed creamy skin covered with freckles, the cotton tank top doing little to cover it.

“Bite on your bottom lip,” Rose advised as she took a rapid collection of pictures on Rey’s phone. She did so as she made a mental note to delete them afterwards.

After setting up the profile, fake name and vague profile photo and all, she went onto filling in her preferences. It went by ‘Likes,’ ‘Negotiable,’ and ‘Dislikes,’ which brought Rey great comfort; there wouldn’t need to be that awkward conversation muddled into the heat of the moment, going over boundaries and personal limits.

She wasn’t in any particular hurry to get a response, seeing as her preferences were pretty specific and detailed.

It was a bit more difficult define what it was she was looking for than she thought it’d be. There would always be a significant part of her that _needed_ to have control, at least to some extent. But at the same time, it got tiresome to constantly be carrying such a burden. To always be so strictly wound and fixated on having the high ground.

She sought out— _craved_ , really— a middle ground; something where she could ease up on her inhibitions and be freed from any sense of obligation, and just enjoy being taken care of... but all on her terms.

It was akin to not caring what was being watched on the television, letting someone else choose, but still being able to have the remote control in her hands. 

She hoped that she’d find someone willing to work with that, but she wouldn’t be too disappointed if this was just another flop.

So when her phone pinged, notifying her that she got a match fifteen minutes later, she couldn’t help but dive for her phone to see what kind of person could possibly meet her extensive demands.

_KiraNo1,_

_You’ve got a match!_

**_KyloRen_ ** _  
_

_3.1 miles away_

**_Compatibility:_ ** _98.9%_

**_Likes:_ ** _18/18_

**_Negotiable:_ ** _3/4_

**_Dislikes:_ ** _7/8_

**_KyloRen_ ** **_ ‘Dislikes’ _ ** **_Degradation_ ** _(_ **_Note:_ ** _I struggle a bit when it’s directed at me, but I can try to accommodate my partner’s needs/desires upon discussion.)_

**_KyloRen_ ** **_ ‘Likes’ _ ** **_Intamacy._ **

It was that last piece of information that held Rey back. She definitely wouldn’t want to lead anyone on, but man was that compatibility nearly _perfect_...

Not to mention the way her mouth watered upon inspecting his profile picture. Defined, chiseled abs peaked out between the silk fabric of a white dress shirt, displaying a span of light skin spotted with freckles and marks.

“Maybe ‘ _intimacy_ ’ is negotiable,” Rey mumbled to herself as she swiped the screen.

Her heart thudded faster when the screen changed with an almost immediate response.

** KyloRen: ** **  
**

**‘Hello Kira,**

**I look forward to meeting you, if you’re able to.**

**How’s 5 PM on Saturday night? My schedule is a bit chaotic, but I’m happy to work something out.**

**Respectfully,**

**Kylo.’**


	2. hope to own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans

There were only two days in between the time Rey got into contact with Kylo and the day they planned to meet.

In that time, they’d each managed to share a general synopsis of who they are.

Of course, both were likely patched with fibs due to the anonymous nature of their relationship, but Rey was fine with that.

Rey told him that she had graduated— starting off with a fib, though she was only one more semester away from it being true— and worked at a cafe. She actually worked at a tea house, which was quite different than a cafe, but he didn’t need to know that.

They shared general physical descriptions, accompanied by scant photos that were meant to wet the appetite but not fully satiate.

The way she described herself was true, since he’d eventually see her anyway: hazel eyes, freckles, brown hair that went down to her shoulders, athletic build.

**KyloRen:** Freckles, huh? That’s precious. So fuckin cute.

**KiraNo1:** Don’t make fun of me.

**KyloRen:** I’m not. I think you are cute. Sexy as hell, too. I got turned on when I saw the freckles in that picture you sent.

He had been referring to a picture she’d taken of her collarbones down to her chest, just cutting off before her nipples were in view. They agreed to remain faceless until their first meeting, which only added to the allure of whatever sneak peek the other would send over:

Kylo said he was in his late 30s, had dark hair and dark brown eyes. She had also gotten a nice view of his alabaster skin as it spanned over his defined abdomen and down to hip bone— similar to her pictures, cut off right before it got to the main parts.

He said he spent most of his days reading or watching movies at home, which was how he wanted it— whether there were a pandemic or not. He told her he wished he had a green thumb so he could grow his own garden and never have to go to the market, which earned a genuine smile from Rey as she read it.

He also told her he was an author. She snorted when she read that, hardly surprised he’d chosen such an easy, flattering career choice to use as his cover. Really, it could mean anything; he could have some of his written work out there, but it could also just mean he’s posted fanfic on Wattpad for Star Trek. He probably could write good smut at least, she thought.

But once again, it didn’t really matter to Rey. He was articulate and well-spoken when they talked, she did have to give him that; she could see herself enjoying conversation with him over a cocktail on any given evening. But what mattered was that he had sent her his last test results (any major details as to who he really was were methodically blurred out), showing her that his results had all been up-to-date and cleared, and that he was built like a piece of Grecian art.

He knew what he wanted, too.

Normally she wouldn’t think too much about a future date because doing so made her anxious, but Kylo was apparently prepared to do all the thinking for them both.

**KyloRen:** Would it suit you to go over the preference list?

**KiraNo1:** Yours or mine?

**KyloRen:** Both. I made a quick list of our shared preferences, as well as things we both are potentially interested in and things we definitely aren’t interested in.

**KiraNo1:** Wow, you certainly are prepared.

**KyloRen:** I’m a busy man, Kira. I don’t care for wasting time.

**KiraNo1:** Do you think I’m a waste of time?

**KyloRen:** Oh, not you.

**KyloRen:** Never you.

**KyloRen:** The time between now and Saturday is what I’m concerned about wasting.

**KiraNo1:** You flatter me.

**KyloRen:** You flatter me by giving me the time of day.

**KiraNo1:** Ha. We’ll see if you still feel that way after Saturday...

She wanted this— she wanted him, like he was the only thing that could silence the pangs taking over her mind and body. It reminded her of hunger; the inner need she had to be filled. And maybe Kylo could satisfy her. 

_“I had been hungry all the years,”_ Professor Solo’s recitation of those words rung hollow in her ears. 

_Hunger for what?_

__

She’d rather not explore the answer to that question. 

Her phone pinged again.

**KyloRen:** Mmm. I think I will. I think you’ll feel it too.

**KiraNo1:** Hmm... sounds promising. You think you’ll be able to live up to that promise, sir? It’s a mighty big one.

**KyloRen:** I’ve been told it is, actually. But that doesn’t really matter. What matters is if it’s to your liking, princess.

**KyloRen:** I’m already getting hard, thinking of you taking it all.

**KiraNo1:** Fuuuuuuck. Do you think I’ll be able to, Daddy? What if it’s too big to fit inside me?

**KyloRen:** I think you can. And if you have trouble, baby girl, don’t worry: we’ll make it fit. No matter how long or how many times or ways it takes.

**KiraNo1:** Mmmm. Sounds soooo good right now.

**KiraNo1:** So do you have an idea of how we should go about this?

**KiraNo1:** How do you want this to go

**KyloRen:** I’m flexible. I want you to feel comfortable and enjoy this.

**KiraNo1:** I’m not sure.

**KiraNo1:** I’m interested in resigning some control, so...

**KyloRen:** Ah.

**KyloRen:** I do have something in mind, actually. If you’re interested...

**KiraNo1:** Lay it on me.

**KiraNo1:** ;)

**KyloRen:** You know I have to make note of each time you act like a little brat, don’t you, baby? Teach you your lessons when I get to you?

**KiraNo1:** Oh yes. I do know. And I’m counting on it, Daddy.

**KyloRen:** Hah. Wicked little thing.

**KyloRen:** I think I’d like to walk into the room with you spread on the bed.

**KyloRen:** And you’d rest your head on your forearms and have your sweet little ass sticking up in the air, at the end of the mattress.

**KyloRen:** I’d have the perfect view of your ass and your cunt, just dripping with want.

**KyloRen:** And I’d make sure of it by sticking my face there, eating you out until your legs nearly give out and you scream for me to stop.

**KyloRen:** And then I’d take you from behind and fuck you like the pretty little cockslut you are for me.

**KyloRen:** Fuck you so good and hard, you’d feel it for days after. You’d still have my cum dripping out of you. You’d feel the mattress under you still from how hard I’m gonna pound you into it.

**KyloRen:** And if my baby girl says she loved it, I’ll reward myself by turning you on your back so I can finally see that mischievous, sexy little face of yours.

**KyloRen:** I can feel it, you know. That you’re lovely.

**KyloRen:** How does that sound, sweetheart? Does that sound nice to you?

**KiraNo1:** ‘Yes’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.

**KiraNo1:** I’m all but exploding. I need this so much. I’ve needed this so much, for monthsss. Oh god, I can’t wait.

**KyloRen:** Oh, sweet girl. Don’t worry, Daddy will make it all better soon enough.

**KiraNo1:** Mmmm. I know you will, Daddy.

**KiraNo1:** Can’t wait to be a good girl for you.

**KiraNo1:** Help you unwind and feel good... it turns me on, thinking of you getting turned on.

**KyloRen:** You don’t even know the half of it.

**KyloRen:** It’s been a treacherous few months, baby girl. I barely have had the time to take care of myself, and I just need to get a good hard fuck in. And something tells me you deserve to get good and fucked, princess.

**KiraNo1:** Yes. I want it sooo bad, kylo. I’m wet just thinking of what you’re going to do with me.

**KyloRen:** Oh, I’m sure you are, Kira. If I were to sneak one of my fingers inside your little panties right now, what do you suppose I’d find?

**KiraNo1:** Hmmm, I think you might find something waiting just for you there.

**KiraNo1:** That big, thick finger of yours would get completely soaked.

**KyloRen:** I thought so. What would happen if I brought my finger to your pretty little lips, baby? Would you let Daddy put his finger in your mouth so you could taste yourself? Suck on it, cause it tastes so sweet?

**KiraNo1:** I’d close my eyes and wrap my lips around it. I’d lick on it, taste it, suck it, swallow it until you lose your damn mind.

**KiraNo1:** Oh wait, we were talking about your finger, weren’t we? Oopsie. <3

**KyloRen:** Holy shit, Kira.

**KyloRen:** What am I going to do with you?

**KyloRen:** I’m getting the sense that you’re going to need a good, hard spanking before I let you come.

**KyloRen:** How does that sound, baby girl? Hmm? Would you like it if Daddy smacked your cute little ass while it’s sticking up in the air? Don’t worry, doll. I’d kiss it to make it feel better after.

**KiraNo1:** Fuuuuuuuckkk.

**KiraNo1:** Yes yes yes

**KiraNo1:** I need that so bad, Daddy. I think you’re going to have to teach me a big lesson, because I’m not sure how I’ll behave until I’m with you.

**KyloRen:** Well that won’t do, will it princess?

**KyloRen:** Because only good girls get to play with Daddy.

**KyloRen:** Only good girls get fucked like a fucktoy.

**KyloRen:** And don’t you want to be Daddy’s toy? For him to make you feel good with his big fat cock?

**KiraNo1:** Mmm. That depends, Daddy. How would you use your big fat cock to make me feel good? I gotta make sure there’s something in it for me, you know.

**KyloRen:** Oh, you’re a saucy little slut.

**KiraNo1:** You don’t even know the half of it, mister.

**KyloRen:** Nasty little brat. Lucky for you I’m not in my office right now. Because if I was, everyone might see how hard you’ve made me. People might walk in and see me pull out my cock and squeeze it while I pretend it’s that tight little cunt of yours clenching it.

**KyloRen:** If that were the case, I would have to punish you some more.

**KiraNo1:** Shit, Daddy.

**KiraNo1:** If that were to happen, would it make things better if I found you, went to you, and plopped myself in your lap? Let you use me to take the edge off?

**KyloRen:** Guess we’ll have to see, baby girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops here you go sorry I lost my will to write but momentarily it’s back 
> 
> Ch title reference to hunger by Emily Dickinson

**Author's Note:**

> *pretends to be shocked at the ending*


End file.
